


Tempest's Prompt List

by TempestandTeacup



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hannibal Loves Will, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Will Loves Hannibal, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-02-01 12:53:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12705390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempestandTeacup/pseuds/TempestandTeacup
Summary: Just my running list of prompts and short things people have asked me for or based on things that have inspired me to write about these two.





	1. Faithful

**Author's Note:**

> For @ofdvorakanddastardlyschemes and the prompt given based on this post http://violentwavesofemotion.tumblr.com/image/167070362877:  
> S4 Will coming across this in a book and ruminating on it and when Hannibal looks over from his drawing with a soft smile and asks him what he was thinking about, he looks over and just takes Hannibal in for a moment, before saying something offhanded and putting down the book to go give him a lingering kiss.

 

It was barely the afternoon but they still kept the fire going during the day. While spring was clearly holding its own outside, the winter had been long and the days were cold. The faintest dusting of frost was still visible in the mornings and coating the many flowers which lined the sides of their small house and filled their garden. 

 

Will smiles to himself over the book in his lap when he sees their blooms through the bay windows across from him in their study. Hannibal sits in the alcove of the window, one leg outstretched, the other pulled up and balancing a sketchbook while the soft scriching sound of pencil on paper fills the quiet of the room. He looks back to his book.

 

_ “Once in a garden there grew a rose. A wind fell in love with her.” _

 

The scriching of the pencil. The fire’s warmth.

 

_ “They were completely different, he---light and fair; she---immobile and heavy as blood.” _

 

A glance up.

 

_ “There came a man in wooden clogs and with his thick hands he plucked the rose. The wind leapt after him, but the man slammed the door in his face.” _

 

Movement in his periphery, shadow moving in sunlight. Will looks up from his reading as Hannibal shifts his sketchbook, pulling his leg underneath himself.

 

_ “ ---O that I might turn to stone---wept the unlucky one---I was able to go round the whole world, I was able to stay away for years at a time, but I knew that she was always there waiting.”  _

 

A breath.

 

_ “The wind understood that, in order really to suffer, one has to be faithful.” _

 

His eyes flick back up and then down again. Hannibal is almost done with his drawing, Will knows. He always is when he brings the sketchbook in closer and the scriches become smoother in the background. He waits for the sound to change and when it does, he smiles again. He knows how to wait. But hasn’t he always? Didn’t they wait for each other? 

 

“Will…”

 

The sound of his name drags him from his thoughts. He looks up and sees Hannibal sitting up straight with the book at his side and a questioning look in his eyes.

 

“I said your name twice. Where were you just now?”

 

Will stands and walks across the room to the alcove and sits, drawing Hannibal’s mouth to his in a slow kiss.

 

“Nowhere.” he says, as he pulls his lips back and smiles. “Just waiting.”   

  
  



	2. Hannigram Poetry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will loves Hannibal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My awkward attempt at Hannigram poetry. I guess I prompted myself? I have always loved the Proust quote and it inspired me:  
> "I have built, deep in my heart, a chapel filled with you."

I love you in the still, quiet corners of my mind,  
The darkened spaces left dormant, waiting for my visit.  
I do not know the way they look; the light never shines on them there.  
But I know their breadth and depth and width by heart.  
I could tell you their shape by touch and memory alone.   
There isn’t a space inside my mind that you haven’t touched, it seems.   
You emptied what ever I had left in those rooms and filled them with you.

**Author's Note:**

> Come tumble with me! @oftempestsandteacups


End file.
